Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1)

by Noelle Bodhaine

  The praise goes straight to my head and my hands go straight to his hair, pulling him into me, crushing him to my naked skin. I pour myself into a deep, toe curling kiss. Every ounce of need, every ache, and every flutter of my heart since the moment I laid eyes on him floods through me. I want to climb inside of him and wrap myself around his heart, the way he has wound himself around mine. Every inch of me is burning for his touch, my center aches and throbs where he should be, filling me, and possessing me. I feel more connected to him now than I have ever felt with anyone. The way his eyes lock onto mine, he sees right through me. He knows what I need, and I need him to give it to me.

  I rise up on my knees and hover above him, slowly stroking my wet lips over the tip of his cock. I look down into his flaming eyes for a sign, for permission; permission to take him in. He bites his lip and groans in approval. His eyes twinkle with mischief while his hands fit perfectly upon my hips, guiding me over his thick, hard dick. He plants a slow wet kiss on my forehead, a tender kiss to the tip of my nose and a soft kiss on my chin before he flexes his hips and his head dips into my greedy pussy. One last deep breath and a scorching look before he sinks into me, filling me up. He pushes me to the hilt, until I don’t think I can take anymore.

  “Sophie you are so tight, just a little more,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Relax, Beautiful.”

  He pulls me down as I let out the last breath, filling every empty inch. We have merged, our bodies wrapped around each other, his body filling mine. His skin is warm and sticky, smelling of sweat and sex and him. My breasts are crushed against his chest, the smattering of black hair tickling my sensitive skin. His lips are soft on my neck, while his powerful hands rock my hips forward, swallowing space and time. He rolls me forward and back, building friction and heat. I am exploding with need, aching from the inside. A tremor rolls through me, a delicious shudder, as my muscles tighten and grip his cock. Pulling him deeper, I roll forward wanting more. He stills me, his hands on my hips, before fluidly flipping me to my back and covering me with the weight of his beautiful body. He rests on his arms, trapping my shoulders on either side as he slides slowly out of me, rolling his hips in circles above mine.

  “You are driving me crazy,” he whispers before thrusting into me, filling me to the bone, forcing the breath from my chest. The fullness is euphoric and my head swirls as he plunges into me over and over again, pressing me into the mattress. His breathing is ragged and clipped, moving above me with such force and animal grace. “Talk to me, Sophie.”

  “I….I…” I stutter with each thrust. I don’t know what to say. I just want to feel this, the exquisite slide of his cock, the press of his hips. The agony of waiting falls away, leaving me raw and hungry.

  We move slow and steady, our bodies entwined and in tune. His weight feels natural, each thrust is welcome and his warm breath ignites a fire across my skin. The slow burn gives way to building heat, my tight walls flex and curl around him, pulling him to the depths. My hips rise up to meet his, matching his every thrust. He slides slowly out and rolls his hips, making shallow circles, while he teases my clit with his thumb. A tremor builds under the tight bundle of nerves, and he circles her mercilessly, stroking around and around until I feel like I am going to fall apart. Thunder roars through my head, his thumb presses my clit as he pounds into me with such force I slide up the bed. My chest is tight and I hold my breath, stopping the onslaught. I try to tame the pleasure that is erupting within me as Rhys thrusts away, mercilessly claiming my body. His hips slam into me, faster and faster, reaching deeper with each explosive thrust. My whole body rattles against the building orgasm that I try to hold at bay. My thighs lock around Rhys’ form and pull him into me, trying to slow his building rhythm. He lowers his mouth to my breast and bites at my hard nipple, pulling it through his teeth, rolling it on his tongue and it is my undoing.

  “Let go,” his warm whisper fills my ear. I cannot hold on any longer and come around him. Like a single drop in a still pond, pleasure ripples through me while Rhys continues to thrust. Long, slow thrusts followed by needy grinding. He rolls his hips against me, rubbing his skin to my heated, tortured clit as he sinks as deeply as my body will allow. Then he rears up, his hands grasping my hips, and with a wink he slams into me. The fullness and impact pushes me over the edge and I shatter around him again as he pumps himself into me violently. Three hard thrusts and he pulls out. No! The emptiness is shocking, devastating. My body pulses and twists as he grasps his throbbing cock in his hand, he rests the other on my wet folds and swollen clit. He presses my clit, prolonging my pleasure as he pumps himself, three strong, slow strokes before feeding himself back into me, sliding balls deep. He rocks his hips and pounds into me with two heavy drives before he stills and he comes hard, filling me up. He collapses over me, a string of sweet and dirty nothings whispered in my ear. He rolls to the side, pulling the sheet around us before pulling me into his arms and cradling me to his chest.

  I focus on the sound of his heart and the feel of his heartbeat. His pulse is racing and his breathing shallow as he strokes my hair and nuzzles my neck, teasing with his warm breath. This is the closest I have been to Heaven. His fingers so gentle on my heated skin, his breathing like a hypnotic mantra. We lay in silence, me engulfed in his powerful arms, his body wrapped around me possessively.

  “How do you feel?” I hum with delight, unable to do much of anything else.

  “High as a kite,” I manage in a soft whisper.

  “Good.” His mouth closes over mine for a sweet shallow swipe of his tongue before he hops off the bed and struts into the bathroom. I drink in every inch of his powerful back as the moonlight dances across his form. I didn’t get a good look at him before. I was too eager. Now I can focus, and he is gorgeous. Every inch of pale skin pulled tight over lean muscles, his legs sculpted and strong. Even his feet were perfect. He shines in the moonlight like a god, a god who just shook my foundation, one whom I could easily worship.

  I watch him emerge from the bathroom with a washcloth and a bottle of lotion. His hips sway as he strides towards the bed and a shiver runs through me; those hips, which have so recently and thoroughly nailed me to the mattress. He gently wipes me clean with the warm cloth. His touch feather light over my swollen lips, he grazes my heated clit and a jolt of electricity through the oversensitive nub causes me to gasp.

  “Shh.” His warm breath glides across my hips as he rolls me over. His hands move to my back, gently warming my skin, exploring the dip and curve of my spine, kneading and rolling across sore muscles. His magical hands loosen every tight sinew, coaxing all the remaining tension from my body. The smell of the lotion is intoxicating. It swirls heavy in the air around us, filling my head with magnolia and luscious memories of Rhys’ body, pressed against mine, filling me up. I close my eyes and surrender to his hands. They skate across my back, his fingers digging into my shoulders, untying long curled knots. He is careful not to let an inch of skin go without his tender touch. He caresses my shoulders and runs his fingers down my arms. He cups my buttocks and kneads the base of my thighs. He stops there and his fingertips make circles in the neglected flesh. I am loose and limp under his touch. He travels down each leg, brushing his lips across the backs of my knees as he kneads my tight calves, until he comes to my feet. I am painfully ticklish and flinch, rousing me from drifting into a sex coma. Rhys grabs my foot and pulls. He runs his thumb up the instep, pressing into my flesh riding the curve and it rattles through my loins. He does the same on the other foot and my head rolls as the sensation moves through me. Climbing my body slowly, planting feather light kisses on my backside. He grasps the back of my knee and hitches my leg up, pressing me into the bed with the weight of his chest.

  “Shall I do it again?” His tongue slides across my ear.

  “Please,” I giggle, writhing beneath him. He pins me with his hips and slips a finger into my still swollen flesh, rolling around, before he adds another finger and plunges them into me sof
tly massaging me from the inside.

  “You are already wet. I like that,” he purrs against my neck.

  He slides his legs between mine and pushes my knee up farther before slowly sliding between my lips. He thrusts and my body accepts him like a missing piece. Every hard inch buried deep, rocking me from the inside. He moves slowly at first, sliding in and out, the rhythm painfully slow, making me desperate for more. I try and press up against him, forcing pressure, but he stills me with his hands on my hips. Holding me flush with the bed, he takes his time rolling his hips, stroking, taking my breath away. I whimper into the sheets and he takes off increasing his speed, pounding harder, his balls brushing against my hot flesh as he moans in my ear.

  “You are so beautiful, Sophie.” His hand moves to my swollen heated lips and he starts to stroke. Long, slow circles around my clit, twisting the slick flesh around and around. My head swims, adrift in the sensation. He teases and circles, pressing harder, before the buildup washes me senseless and I grab a fistful of sheet and an orgasm rolls through me.

  “Good girl.” His voice is raw as he rears up and slams into me. Grinding against me, and then slamming into me again. His hands are all over me, grasping at my flesh, pulling me closer as he thrusts once more and empties himself. My walls close around him, pulling him deeper. He collapses over me, still connected in the most intimate way. I pulse around him, milking him for every drop before he rolls onto his side and pulls me with him. A sheen of sweat and sex covers our skin. He kisses the back of my neck and his tongue teases the rivulets of sweat that converge at my spine. He gently slips from my body and I slip into a sated, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 13

  My body is limp, my head senseless and swimming in the deep pool of ecstasy that Rhys has so easily filled. My eyes flutter open to a room smothered in darkness, even the moon has disappeared. Rhys is coiled around me, his knees hitched up behind mine, forcing me into a fetal curl. Our fingers are tangled, and he has tucked my head safely under his chin. His breathing is slow and even, his heartbeat familiar and comforting, his arms strong and safe. How easily I slip into this intimacy, with no thought of what is to come. I slide out from under his arms and tiptoe out of the bedroom, snatching his shirt off the ground. With every step I regain myself, remember how I got here. I walk into the bathroom, pulling his dress shirt on over my head, softly closing the door behind me.

  I flip on the light, illuminating the large bathroom, larger than you would expect for a boat. Staring back through the mirror, flushed and mussed, I am face to face with a new woman. Amazing what a few orgasms and the attention of a real man can do for a girl. I inspect myself, the healthy flush on my cheeks, the bright sparkle in my eyes and the genuine smile across my face. I can’t remember the last time I felt this good, this happy. After years of self-imposed unhappiness, this is what I have been missing. This is a new freedom. In the space of a breath, my chest opens, my heart threatening to leap from my body and do cartwheels. Heat rises in my blood, eclipsing any rational thought. I see the sweet pink bruises on my skin from his perfect mouth, covered in sex and a growing sense of something I am unaccustomed to. I feel full. Full of myself, full of him, full of lust, I don’t know. I just feel full for the first time. After years of feeling empty and unworthy, I feel full, but not yet satisfied.

  As softly as possible I slide through the cabin, Rhys tosses and turns, softly breathing, but soundly sleeping, looking peaceful, satisfied. His beautiful body draped in heavenly white sheets, mouth soft and relaxed. I watch him for a moment, in awe that such a beautiful man would take me to bed. The mere thought of his warm mouth and hands roaming over my body send a tremor down my spine and my mouth goes dry. The lingering smell of his cigar smoke, and the faint taste of wine left upon my tongue summon a craving. A craving I thought long gone. A cliché craving that I must satisfy. I need a smoke. I fumble in the dark for a glass of ice water from the bar while plotting where to find a cigarette or perhaps one of his cigars. Heat prickles under my skin, and I drink deeply from the tall glass of water, sucking in a piece of ice, rolling it around on my tongue. I pull on Rhys crumpled, white dress shirt that had been unceremoniously surrendered to the floor. It smells of cologne and testosterone. I dance in the scent, willing it to wrap itself around me. I head out of the cabin, hoping that the late hour will afford me privacy. I’ll step outside for a breath of fresh air on deck; perhaps it will crush my craving.

  Basking in the afterglow, lost in my thoughts, I anticipate the first sweet swirl of smoke in my lungs. Sliding up the steps, I try and remember the winding path we took to get to our cabin. I pass the galley and a laundry before I run into a young woman I assume is staff.

  “Can I help you find something?” she asks with a slight, indiscernible accent.

  “I was hoping to find a cigarette or cigar, and the way up to the deck.”

  “I can help you with that, Ms.” She pauses and waits for me to introduce myself.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I am Sophie.” She turns on her heel.

  “Ok, Ms. Sophie, follow me.” She winds through the dining area and around the tall bar, pulling out a large humidor. She flips it open to reveal a full box of Cohibas. I take one and she closes the box, handing me a clipper and a lighter before prompting me again to follow her. Up another flight of stairs we emerge onto the deck.

  “Thank you,” I tell her as she disappears down the stairs and below deck with a curt nod. I wonder how many random women she has had to show around the yacht, how many conquests she has watched come and go. The candles on deck flicker and dance as they burn themselves out. I hear the faint sound of boisterous voices coming from the other side of the breakwater. I fumble with the cigar, dropping it to the deck. I bend over to pick it up and Rhys winds his hands around my hips.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I wanted some fresh air and a smoke.” He shakes his head, but says nothing. Taking the clipper from my hand, he picks up the cigar. Concentrating too hard on snipping the end, he slowly lights it with long, drawn out puffs, creating a lazy cloud of smoke that wafts above him.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” he asks, puffing heavily on it, covering himself in a cloud of smoke.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you, you looked so peaceful. Why do you keep shaking your head, what have I done wrong?” Watching me intently, he brushes the hair from my face with a sigh.

  “I’m sorry, you did nothing wrong,” he teases, tugging the hem of his shirt farther up my thighs. “I just thought…” He turns away, towards the sounds of the party which must have spilled out onto the lawn. Robbing me of the sight of his face, the opportunity to know what he is thinking. We watch as a few remaining party goers flit across the lawn and head for the pool deck, their high pitched squeals of play fill the dark night.

  “Hey.” I tug on his shoulder, needing to see his face, wanting him to look at me. Tipping the cigar at me in offer he raises an eyebrow in challenge. I take the long fat cigar, watching his eyes as I run my tongue across my lips and gingerly wrap my mouth around the tip. The tobacco is sweet and smoky. I take three short puffs and blow a wide, meandering smoke ring in his direction. He raises that wicked eyebrow and steps through the ring.

  “Cigars?”

  “My dad smoked cigars and drank scotch when he thought I was asleep. I like the smell.”

  “Ah.” He towers above me as his wet lips take the cigar again, puffing and smacking on the now damp butt. “I like you in my shirt,” he offers casually with a slight grin. “Sounds like the party is still going,” He steps to the rail of the yacht and gazes against the dark into the large swath of grass that surrounds the house.

  “Where did you think I went?” I tease, taking the cigar from his long fingers. A spark ignites between us as our fingers brush. The chemical reaction of our encounter rises to the surface, crackling in the air between us. The warmth of his casual brush spreads through me like liquid, filling me up, drowning me. He lunges forward and takes my face in
his free palm. His eyes bore into me and his lips twist into a lopsided grin.

  “I thought perhaps you ran, like a frightened little bunny.” His mocking tone and hooded eyes don’t fool me. The playboy has a heart.

  “You give yourself too much credit. I am no frightened bunny. Maybe a hungry fox, and it would be a mistake to underestimate the fox, they’re cunning and unpredictable.”

  “You are unpredictable. I will give you that.” He takes a step closer and folds me into his arms, pressing his bare chest against me.

  “That was incredible. But I’m afraid that it is not going to be enough. I am going to have to ask you to stay.” He raises an eyebrow in question. I can hardly wrap my head around what I am hearing. He was annoyingly clear in his intentions, one night. I assumed that was a hard and fast rule, and that he was a stickler for his own rules. Yet, here we are. Moments after he has shown me what my body can really do and already wants more. His eyes sparkle in the dying candlelight and rising moon.

  “I would like to tie you up,” he whispers after a long silence. Fright climbs my back and hovers in my shoulders. Reflexively, I take a step back, out of his reach. No way, the thought of being tied up turns my blood to ice, the slow trickle cooling my body and bringing me down hard.

  “How romantic,” I scoff, trying to sound unaffected. He grabs my arms pulling me back to him. His fingers roll against my skin, flexing and digging into my sensitive flesh. His face is stone, his eyes serious and expectant. He looks quite serious. “You’re joking, right? You said no kink. French vanilla, remember?” I tease, hoping, waiting for him to crack, for a sign that he is teasing. Melissa’s words eek closer to the surface of my conscious mind, ‘He just wants to tie you down and fuck you.’

  “A little restraint isn't kink, and I don’t joke about sex.” He traces lines down my back with feather light strokes of his strong, nimble fingers. “This isn’t romance, this is fun, Beautiful.” His hand skates down my back, cupping the curve of my backside, where he pauses and murmurs to himself, groaning in approval while he squeezes and pulls at my begging flesh. "I don’t believe in romance, it’s so forced and phony.” The thought hangs heavy in the air, seemingly unfinished. “Most importantly…” he ponders, his lips tracing a scorching line down my throat, peppering gentle kisses across my shoulders before quickly turning me away from him. His powerful arms wind around me, making my cage, his body heaving behind me. He places a hot, wet kiss to the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.